The Retreat
by Cybele1
Summary: Snape is trapped in a tight spot with two hormonal teenagers for the night. SS/RW/HP, not necessarily in that order. *SLASH*


TITLE: The Retreat  
  
AUTHOR: Cybele  
  
PAIRING: SS/RW/HP  
  
RATING: R  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters in the story are not mine, but belong to JK Rowling and a whole lot of corporations. I have no money. I don't want any money. I just want to play in the HP playground for awhile. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
ARCHIVING: The Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest Archive, Walking the Plank, PSA, Ex Libris Snape, all others please ask.  
  
SUMMARY: Snape is trapped in a tight spot with two hormonal teenagers for the night. SS/RW/HP, not necessarily in that order.  
  
NOTES: Written in response to the Fuh-Q Fest's Easy Pairing challenge SS/RW.  
  
A/N: Thank you Minx for being an efficient, insightful, and infinitely patient beta. The plot *ahem* is about as likely as Snape wearing frilly bloomers, but, well, let's never mind about that.  
  
The Retreat  
  
Snape closed his eyes tightly and tried to mentally block out the presence of two warm, young, nearly naked bodies sharing the bed (if one could call it that) with him. Damning Dumbledore to hell and back, his mind traced over the events which had brought him there.  
  
Voldemort, not being able to get to Potter directly while the boy was still under the Muggles' roof, devised an absurdly simple plan to lure the gullible boy to him: He kidnapped Harry's best friend.  
  
The plan, as the Muggles say, worked like a charm. Harry "Prince Charming" Potter came to the rescue of his Weasley in distress and Snape was sent out to save them both. After exposing himself as a spy and suffering through at least three rounds of the Cruciatus, he was whisked away.saved by the boy who lived to spite him.  
  
The details of that last part still seemed a little fuzzy, but Snape refused to feel grateful to the foolish Gryffindor since the entire thing had been Potter's fault anyway.  
  
And just when he thought the worst was over, feeling safe and sound within the halls of Hogwarts, Dumbledore sucked them all up into some sort of bottle/bedroom to keep them safe for the night. Snape, et. al. fell gently into a painfully small room that was actually made up of a painfully small bed.  
  
And there he was now-nowhere near rested and wondering when Aladdin would rub the bloody lamp and set him free. Lying on his side and staring into the pitch blackness, he was warmed from behind by the long, lanky body of Ron Weasley, who at least had the decency to keep his lower parts to himself. The Potions Master chose to feign sleep when he felt a whispered "Professor?" against the back of his neck. He suppressed the shiver that blossomed from the contact of the warm moist breath.  
  
He heard Ron sigh with what sounded like relief and then whisper, "Harry? Are you awake?"  
  
"Yeah?" a breathy voice answered.  
  
"Trade places with me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Ron's response was uttered so softly that Snape had to strain his ears to catch it.  
  
*Oh gods.*  
  
Were Snape still capable of blushing, he was pretty sure that his cheeks would be pink.  
  
A snort of laughter was quickly stifled, but it was a long time before anyone spoke. Snape heard a long breath being drawn as Potter tried to control himself. Ron hissed, "It's not funny."  
  
"Where the hell did that come from?" Harry finally whispered, sounding like in making any sound at all he was in grave danger of exploding into an aria of guffaws.  
  
"Piss off, Potter," was Ron's response. "Are you going to trade with me or not?"  
  
"Why? He's sleeping."  
  
"And he would probably hex it if he woke up and found it poking him in the arse!"  
  
"Shhhh." Harry warned and after another fit of laughter, not so well muffled by the down pillow into which he shoved his face, he barely had enough control to whisper, "He might like it," before breaking down again, and then yelping in pain.  
  
"Come on, Harry. Please," Ron whined.  
  
After an awkward series of blind movements and a few whispered complaints, either of which would have sufficed to wake up the Professor had he actually been sleeping, Snape felt a new body mould itself to his backside. This time much more closely.  
  
Snape fought desperately against what he reasoned to be a natural reaction to the proximity of a reasonably attractive seventeen year old who just happened to be aiming steady puffs of breath toward a patch of bared skin on Snape's overly-sensitive neck. He didn't dare remind himself that while he had opted to sleep with his robes on, his two former students, in a moment of youthful immodesty, had stripped down to their underwear. He forced every ounce of concentration he could manage to focus on the back of his eyelids to keep from noticing that Harry Potter didn't seem to be faring any better than his friend had.  
  
"Ron, I can't sleep with that in my arse."  
  
"It never bothered you before," Ron whispered wryly.  
  
"Shh."  
  
Despite himself, Snape's ears pricked up again. Visions of naked Gryffindors began dancing across his eyelids and, for all his focusing there, he was now much worse off than before. Biting his lip hard, he hoped the pain would be enough to distract him. Then he remembered that he had rather fancied pain once.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"This isn't working."  
  
"Forget it," Ron said, "I'm not changing."  
  
"Between you nudging me and me nudging him, you're going to have to escort me straight to St. Mungo's in the morning!" Harry wheezed frantically.  
  
Were Snape merely a witness to the situation he might have found it amusing. As it was, however, he was too busy willing away the painfully hard lump under his robes to find any humour in his predicament. When Snape felt a warm hand slide between his arse and Potter's swollen groin, he felt his resolve vanish. Unconstrained by conscience, his arousal increased exponentially. The breath assaulting the back of his neck suddenly stopped.  
  
"Ron! Are you mad?"  
  
A wave of relief washed over Snape when he felt Harry's hips jerk back away from him. As the first wave receded it was replaced by a much warmer sensation flooding through him when he heard the unmistakeable sound of snogging.  
  
His mind was torn in so many different directions that there was nothing left of him to make a decision. The responsible, Professor Snape-like thing to do would be to stop whatever was going on in a way that would guarantee the two boys would wither with humiliation. The practiced eavesdropper in him wondered how far the young men would go with him just inches away. The beastly part of him that he'd been repressing for so many years that he'd nearly forgotten about it-the *man* in him was trying to force his hips to go backward and grind against that warm, lovely hardness that just seconds before had tormented his arse into a taut, burning ring of need.  
  
Not capable of deciding whether or not he wanted the sweet torture to stop, Snape continued listening as the smacking sounds became more insistent, and breathing more ragged. Every now and again a hand (at least he hoped it was a hand) would brush up against some part of his body, but the two young men were too occupied to notice any change in the Potions master's breathing. Snape kept one hand buried under his head, while the other clutched the bed sheet. He'd be damned before he'd allow himself to alleviate an increasingly urgent longing to be touched. Well, he probably *was* damned, but that wasn't the point.  
  
One of the breathy voices said, "We can't do this. What if he wakes up?"  
  
"We'll ask him if he wouldn't mind holding this."  
  
Snape's stomach leapt hopefully as his mind replaced "this" with more specific and decidedly tasty words. His hand released the bed sheet as though declaring its eagerness to be of service, while the three parts of his psyche were engaging in what could only be considered a cat fight.  
  
"Oh god." Harry moaned softly. "Ron, that's not funny."  
  
Ron wheezed, "Well *it* seemed to like the idea. I think it actually jumped with joy! Admit it, Harry, you want the greasy git."  
  
"Shh.oooh." Harry sighed then said, "You're the one who had to trade places."  
  
"You're the one who moans his name in your sleep."  
  
"I do not!" Harry protested, seeming to just barely moderate his voice in time.  
  
"Yes, you do," Ron laughed.  
  
The silence which followed allowed Snape to process the information he was receiving. Getting over the initial shock of being the subject of Gryffindor pillow talk seemed to take up most of the brief silence. His shock was replaced by something resembling smugness that Harry Potter (of all people) had erotic dreams of which the Professor played a part. He might have laughed gleefully if the silence was not broken by the wet sounds of lips on flesh, thereby filling his mind with white noise.  
  
"I don't blame you, though," Ron whispered, "the man oozes sex. Gods! Can you smell him? Just think, Harry. All you have to do is move your hips forward half a foot to bury yourself in his-"  
  
"Shh.and stop doing that or I'm going to come all over his robes," Harry hissed.  
  
Snape heard a rather loud moan, followed by a panicked voice in his head shouting *That was you, you git!* The thick tense silence which hung in the air was disturbed only by the pounding of Snape's heart and the frantic voices in his head shouting out orders like Quidditch team captains.  
  
*Say something!* *Don't say anything! You're asleep* *Do something! Move your goddamn hips, man. You're so close!*  
  
"Professor?" At the sound of Ron Weasley's voice, all the inner voices froze and waited expectantly. When a hand pressed against his shoulders, Snape flinched under the simultaneous screaming of the three parts of his conscience:  
  
"Put that away and go to sleep!" "What is it? Why did you wake me?" "Oh god..touch me!*  
  
A tickle in his throat told him that one of those phrases had managed find it's way beyond the barrier of his clenched teeth. But for the life of him, he couldn't say which one it'd been.  
  
***  
  
Albus Dumbledore walked into his office still rather early to think about waking the three up. And he had to admit to being reluctant to break the news to them that they'd have to spend a few more nights in the retreat (as he preferred to call it). He didn't want to take any chances and had to finish erecting the wards on the Burrow, find a more secure home for Harry, and reconsider the Death Eater buffers at Hogwarts which had been relaxed when Severus was still posing as one.  
  
"Good morning, Fawkes," Dumbledore sighed and started crossing the room when he noticed the silver bottle in which the three slept had somehow fallen from his desk and was now wedged at a rather peculiar angle between his desk and the wall. Dumbledore frowned at it for a moment before gingerly shifting it into its original position. "Curious," he muttered. He considered looking in on the bottle's contents, but threw off the thought just as quickly. If Severus had spent the entire night at the bottom of a stack of bodies, his humour was likely to be foul, to put it mildly. Dumbledore thought it best to give the man time to cool off before setting them all free for breakfast.  
  
Making his way over to the Phoenix, he stretched out a long bony hand and petted the bird's head. Chuckling lightly, he whispered, "Well let's just hope he was on top, eh?" 


End file.
